


Pet Names

by beadedslipper



Series: The Cully Wully Ficlet Saga [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadedslipper/pseuds/beadedslipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen tries to find a suitable pet name for his Inquisitor.  Nothing seems to fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet Names

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of several Cullen/Inquisitor fics I'm about to post. I've been playing DA:I obsessively since Christmas and am completely in love with Cullen. I've just been writing oneshot after oneshot and I'm gonna now be posting all of them one after another. Prepare for Cullen/Inquisitor spam! =)

Commander is what she calls him when she’s feeling flirtatious, Templar when she’s teasing him or sometimes when she’s cross. Curly she got from Varric and the pet-name seems to pop up at unrelated intervals. She calls him sweetheart when his hands shake and he thrashes in fear of imaginary demons conjured by lyrium withdrawal. When they’re alone, with only their breath between them, she calls him Cullen.

His Inquisitor has many names for him and he accepts them all with pleasure now that he has been granted the gift of being her lover. But he has yet to find a suitable nickname for her.

First he tries calling her by her title, lowering his voice to a husky vibrato the same way she does when she calls him Commander. But the first time he addresses her as Inquisitor in an….unofficial capacity…she crinkles her nose in displeasure. Adorable. But not the reaction he was going for. She rewards him for the effort with a peck on the lips but explains, with no small amount of embarrassment, that her responsibilities weigh far too heavy on her shoulders for such a term of endearment to ever be attractive. He files away her response and vows to try harder.

He considers, briefly, her surname. Trevelyan has a nice ring to it. But it seems too impersonal, coming nowhere close to embodying the depth of his affection and regard for her.

Dorian calls her ‘my dear’ and he tries that one on for size but gets only helpless giggles in response. He doesn’t mind the reaction, her laughter is always something he strives for, but he ends up discarding that option almost as quickly as Varric’s option of ‘doll’.

Iron Bull calls her ‘boss’ but, although she is technically his superior and he isn’t bothered by that, it doesn’t really communicate the kind of relationship he wants.

Most everyone else calls her ‘my lady’. Not a bad option, but he wants his pet-name for her to be special. Not something she hears every day from everyone else.

‘Darling’ goes over pretty well, earning him a soft smile and an extra hour in their warm bed. He puts that one at the top of his mental checklist as a potential. Simply calling her by her name also serves him well, sending shivers down her spine. Especially when he says it breathlessly, while undressing her with his eyes.

But nothing feels quite right. He becomes so desperate that he tries for the ridiculous and the cliché. Muffin, pookie, shnookums. She and Sera and Dorian have a good laugh at his expense when he tries out his ideas over drinks at the tavern.

He has almost given up hope, resigned to be the only one with a pet name in their relationship. Fortunately, it seems the Maker is with him for the second time in his life, the first time being when she told him she wanted to be with him romantically. Late one night, in her chambers, they are celebrating her safe return after closing near to seven rifts in the Western Approach. He moves above her, feeling like he has been driving her to the edge for hours. She tosses her head, hair flying around her and heels digging into the small of his back.

“Just let go.” He begs. “Come with me my love.”

His words seem to serve as the catalyst she needs because in the next moment she spasms around him, sobbing her release into the thick cords of his neck.

Afterwards they lay sweaty and spent. He is still sheathed within her and lays half on top of her, too tired and content to move further away. He would anyway if she showed any sign of discomfort, but she is tracing nonsensical patterns on his back and he takes that as a sign that she doesn’t want him to move.

“I like that one best.” She confides after a while.

He hums his confusion, halfway asleep in pleasant lethargy.

“That pet name. I like that one the best.”

“Which one?” He asks, still not getting it.

He can feel her sheepish smile against his skin. “My love.” She whispers.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, smiling down at her and brushing the hair from her forehead. My love. Now that has a nice ring to it.


End file.
